


Fool's Gold

by Ms_Id



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Angst, Broken Bones, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kintsugi, Medical Procedures, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Id/pseuds/Ms_Id
Summary: Red is broken. Edge tries to put him back together. They’ve done this for one another a lot over the years with middling success.
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After much deliberation, I’ve decided to split this into three parts. It started as a prompt from DoomPoet who suggested kitsugi with the fellbros. Kitsugi being “…the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold…”
> 
> It started as a oneshot. I liked the visual, but then the philosophy behind the art started stirring some angsty ideas in me.
> 
> Probably did not help that I started reading skerb’s Red on You about 3k words into writing this and had the sudden urge to drag Sans’ suffering out just… a tiny bit more. >_>
> 
> I have most of this written. I considered posting the rest now, but I’m not up to editing that much at the moment. Besides, this feels more like a complete chapter than cutting the thing right down the middle would have. I’ll probably drop a chapter a week. Maybe finish up a chapter of my vampire Edge fic before then. Got that going too since I seem to be on a fellbros kick right now.
> 
> Yes, I have a WIP problem. No, I don’t want to talk about it.

Sans didn’t have as much HP as his brother. Even if he matched him LV for LV, he doubted that he ever would. He had gained a couple since moving to the Surface. It had occurred to him that he would be dust by now if he hadn’t. He might still be dust before the night was finished, but he needed to get to Papyrus first. He didn’t like the idea of him not knowing. There were enough things he’d already fucked up today. Making Papyrus put in work to figure out just how bad those fuck-ups had been wasn’t another transgression he wanted to add to the pile.

His hood was pulled low and his shoulders were slumped. Occasionally, he saw feet on the sidewalk, heard voices. It was a long walk, but he knew the city. The bottom of familiar landmarks came in and out of his narrow field of vision. Padlocked dumpsters outside the pawnshop… blue tarp fluttering where the glass on the laundromat’s front door had been busted last week… freestanding ashtray overflowing outside of Grillby’s. Not far now.

His sneakers scrubbed against concrete. Somewhere, a car alarm was going off. People passing him by were getting fewer and giving him a wider berth. He probably looked intoxicated. Or else they could tell he was in rough shape and didn’t want to get involved. Folks hadn’t stuck their necks out for one another in the Underground. Why would they start now?

Sans stumbled over a seam in the sidewalk, barely managing to catch himself on a street sign. It wobbled but remained upright. Truly an inspiration. He could learn a thing or two from that sign.

Not much further. Another two blocks. Not far at all if he cut through the alley.

Sans pushed away from the sign and staggered across the empty street. The mouth of the alley was situated between the grocer’s (closed for the night) and a mattress store. (closed since long before any of them even came to the Surface.)He leaned against the cool brick when he could, skirting around dumpsters when it was necessary, nearly tripping over a dozing monster that snapped at his heels as he passed.

He really wanted to lie down. Sit for just a minute or two, maybe. But no. If he did that he wasn’t sure he would ever get up.

Not much further.

The stairs were a problem. Their apartment was on the third floor. Even when he wasn’t on the verge of dusting, he despised the stairs.

So close now. He could yell, maybe. He didn’t think he should, though. His ribs hurt when he took the shallowest of breaths. Shouting felt inadvisable. Besides, Papyrus might not even be home.

He might not be home…

Somehow Sans hadn’t considered that possibility before now. He had his house key, at least. The humans had taken his phone and his wallet but not the key. There was only one. Easy to miss or maybe just too unimportant to remove from his coat once they’d stripped it from him. Sans shoved a hand in his pocket and felt for the reassuring solidity of it.

It was there, next to a matchbook and a piece of his skull. He’d grabbed the matchbook on his way out the door, after dragging himself up the basement steps and getting his bearings. If Papyrus searched his jacket he would find the matchbook, know he had been there. His brother was as thorough as he could be ruthless. He’d figure out what happened. The least Sans could do was facilitate that process.

The piece of skull in his pocket was optimistic. He’d felt it break away after he’d regained consciousness and picked himself up off the floor. It had made a sharp clack when it hit the ground and, despite drawing his attention immediately, it had taken Sans several long moments to realize that it belonged to him. It felt weird to just leave it behind.

His hand closed around the piece of bone, thumb rubbing over its ragged edges. It felt chalky, but it wasn’t dust yet. Maybe he wouldn’t be dust either. Maybe he could be put back together.

Memories of his childhood with Papyrus came unbidden, that small window of time where Papyrus had, unwisely, looked up to him as a big brother. Papyrus’ chin bumping his shoulder as he stood on tiptoe to look over it. Sans pretending not to notice as he worked gold into the grooves of freshly-sanded lacquer. It was a couple of the knuckles on his left hand that had busted a week or so prior. Nearly a full decade later, Papyrus would be the one to repair the knuckles on his right, leaning over his hand with a fine-tipped paint brush like the world’s grouchiest nail technician.

But that night he was the one hunched and laboring by lamplight. “maybe this’ll remind me not to let you outta my sight again, huh?”

Papyrus said nothing, but he was a loud and argumentative kid even then. His silence spoke volumes. 

“you gotta be more careful. it’s kill or be killed out there. what’re you gonna do next time if i’m not around to protect ya?”

But Papyrus hadn’t needed him for long. Sans bristled every time he felt Papyrus CHECK him, the subtle magic squeeze on his SOUL that told him his brother was reevaluating their lives together. The nature of existence in the Underground made gaining LV inevitable. But something was wrong with Sans. Fundamentally. It was like he and Papyrus had been cut from the same cloth and, despite coming second, his brother had gotten most of the fabric.

Soon he was the one standing there, pressing gold-flecked lacquer into an orbital fracture. “BE MORE CAREFUL.” Silent and guilty as the wounds Papyrus accumulated hauling his pathetic brother’s ass out of the fire began to add up.

Sans reached the final landing. He fished the key from his pocket. Please let him be home.

It took some fumbling with the deadbolt, but he got it. He stumbled inside, the door shutting loudly as he collapsed back against it. He didn’t see Papyrus at first. He felt his SOUL sink, anguished. But then he heard him from the kitchen.

“NEVERMIND, I HEARD HIM COME IN THE DOOR JUST NOW… BELIEVE ME, I PLAN ON TELLING HIM THAT… I KNOW. I’LL SEE YOU ON PATROL TOMORROW.”

Sans sank to the floor. He’d made it. He’d made it, and Papyrus was home.

With that accomplished, his strength left completely. He wasn’t sure how he had made it all this way in the first place.

“boss.” He tried to call for his brother but could barely get the syllable out. It bubbled up, unintelligible and wet. Blood had been pooling in his skull, and he felt it gush over his chin when he opened his mouth.

“IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE THIS LATE, YOU COULD AT LEAST ANSWER YOUR PHONE, SANS,” Papyrus groused from the kitchen. “IF I FIND OUT THAT YOU WERE SLACKING OFF AT GRILLBY’S INSTEAD OF DOING YOUR JOB, THERE WILL BE SOME SERIOUS REPERCUSSIONS. I’LL—”

Sans didn’t find out what those repercussions were. Papyrus came around the corner wearing a scowl and holding his cellphone. When he saw Sans, both dropped. Sans wasn’t sure how he looked. Bad enough that Papyrus said nothing. He closed the distance between them quickly, falling to his knees so suddenly that he slid a few inches on the carpet. Wordlessly, he took his brothers head in his hands and pushed back his hood.

Sans could have let go then and there. Papyrus had him. He could take it from here.

But no. It wouldn’t be fair to leave Papyrus to clean up this mess he had created. He fought to stay awake.

Gently, Papyrus tilted Sans’ head forward, away from the door. Without his hood up, it felt wrong. He had never noticed the airflow in the room before, but now he could feel it inside of his skull, touching parts of bone never meant to be exposed.

Papyrus tensed but said nothing. Sans felt a subtle squeeze on his SOUL and knew that his brother was CHECKing him. Then he was moving again, quicker this time, pushing Sans’ jacket the rest of the way off.

It was bad. He knew it was bad, had known it since he’d heard the crack and felt the boot the human had planted on his chest sink down a few inches. His turtleneck was red. Blood didn’t show, but the fabric felt wet. It stuck to his bones when peeled upward, knocking loose some of the smaller pieces of rib that had been splintered but not dislodged.

Sans sucked in a breath. His ribs expanded with it more than was comfortable, loosing another wet and strangled sound from him. He felt more blood dribble down his chin.

Papyrus stopped. He didn’t let go of Sans’ shirt, but he didn’t raise it further either. It was clear he didn’t know what the better option here was. Neither of them did. Though, when Papyrus started raising his shirt again, he grabbed for his wrist. Which was pathetic. He was acting like a child. He let go of Papyrus.

“sorry boss.” The words were slurred but at least he didn’t choke on them this time.

“SHUT UP.” Papyrus sat down on the floor, stretching out his legs. Slowly, he eased Sans into his lap. Sans did his best to follow Papyrus’ lead. It took some conscious effort. This wasn’t exactly familiar ground he was treading. His thoughts were sluggish and his baser instincts weren’t really attuned to being… held.

It was hard to move. Sans wasn’t sure how he had walked all the way home and climbed two flights of stairs. The air in the apartment felt like a weighted blanket. Even the tiniest movement hurt.

Papyrus turned Sans toward himself, careful not to touch anything broken. Not yet. It was awkward, Papyrus’ hand on his face, turning his skull carefully against his shoulder. He was wearing a t-shirt. It smelled smoky, like he’d managed to burn whatever it was he’d been up to in the kitchen. God, he was so glad he’d made it home.

He was less glad when Papyrus began pushing his shirt up again, trying to see the damage that had been done to his ribs. He sucked in a sharp breath, a reaction that only worsened the pain.

“SHH.”

Sans felt Papyrus’ hand on his spine. He would never call his brother’s demeanor a comforting one, but right now he was verging on a close cousin of it. It made him think of the time they were on patrol, the time when he wasn’t as alert as he he should have been and Papyrus narrowly hauled him from the path of a magic attack meant to kill.

He remembered sitting in the dust of their attacker, holding Papyrus while the dogs went for help. Even back then his LV had been too high for healing. But any kindness in him belonged to Papyrus, and he gave what he could. He hadn’t been sure that he had helped him, but seeing Papyrus reenact some of that here, years later, made him think that it had. At least a little.

“YOU’RE ALL RIGHT, SANS.” Papyrus’ bedside manner left something to be desired. It sounded more like an order than it did heartfelt reassurance. But Sans felt an odd warmth. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was easier to try and ignore. “YOU’LL BE FINE. NOW HOLD STILL.”

Sans managed to keep a hold on himself this time. He buried his face in Papyrus’ shirt, breathing in the smoky scent of him. He didn’t look. He didn’t care to see how bad his injuries were. But Papyrus had grown tense, and he had yet to tell him to just walk it off. Bad, he assumed. His injuries were bad.

One of Papyrus’ hands pulled away from him. Sans turned his head slightly. In his periphery, he saw an object sail across the room and into Papyrus’ hand. A phone, he realized when he heard him dial.

“What now?” Undyne. The room was quiet enough and Sans was close enough that he could tell it was her.

“SANS IS HURT. GET HERE NOW. BRING SOMEONE WHO CAN HELP.” Papyrus’ tone was clipped. He was being rather bold given who it was he was speaking to. Even on the Surface, Undyne was his captain. He knew better than to give her orders.

Several seconds of silence and then, “I’m on my way.”

Papyrus sat the phone aside. “TELL ME WHO DID THIS.” His next command was for Sans again. “BRIEFLY.”

Talking was a chore. A painful one. Papyrus had insisted he keep quiet until now. He obviously recognized that. Sans said nothing. He raised a hand and motioned to his coat instead.

Papyrus grabbed it, rifled through it. Presumably he found the matchbook, though he asked no follow-up questions. He tensed, exhaled sharply, then nothing. Sans felt his brother’s hand on his spine again. He felt the warmth radiating from it.

He thought of the time he’d held Papyrus like this. The dogs had brought help, eventually. A week later he was standing next to him while Papyrus sat and glared at a wall. He was pushing lacquer into new gaps in bone, veining his brother’s scapulae in the same gold he was seeing now, glittering near his collar, near to where Sans’ head rested. He looked away. Or tried to. Turning his head sent pain lancing through it.

“CAREFUL,” Papyrus snarled. “YOU’D BETTER NOT DUST YOURSELF. I’M NOT SPENDING MY SATURDAY VACUUMING YOU OUT OF THE CARPET.”

Sans snorted. “fuck you.”

“MM HMM,” Papyrus hummed in reply, dismissing the backtalk. The hand on Sans’ spine moved to the back of his skull, fingers careful of the hole there. He leaned into the touch. Papyrus held his hand steady, supporting him.

Papyrus felt warm. Sans felt safe. He felt his eyelights begin to dim.

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE FINE,” said Papyrus, and Sans believed him.


	2. Chapter 2

In Sans’ dreams, he hammered gold into sheets and ground it fine. He took it from other monsters. Monsters who no longer had need of worldly possessions. Monsters who had made the holes that now needed filling.

In Sans’ dreams, the exact moment he had failed at being the big brother Papyrus deserved varied. It had always been a role he played, a role he had hoped he would grow into someday. But the Underground was not a patient place. It weeded out weakness early and often.

Sometimes it was an accident. A fall, the elements, something that Sans could have stopped from happening with better reflexes and enough foresight. Sometimes it was more abstract. There were no free handouts in the Underground. Food was scarce sometimes. Sans could see himself small and Papyrus smaller, watching him count and recount the 5G he thought was 6. The look he gave Sans when they were kicked out of the shop empty-handed wasn’t one of anger. It was closer to betrayal, fear maybe. The dawning realization that the person looking after you barely knows what he’s doing on the best of days.

In his dreams, Sans could see the ghosts of alternate timelines more clearly. Usually his first failure was an injury inflicted with intention or, at least, a total disregard for his well-being. A spiral fracture, usually. His forearm. Yanked to his feet after getting caught squatting in a shed. The cold didn’t bother skeletons, but sometimes the snow did. Sometimes it melted in their joints and froze again by the time they woke up.

But Sans could have planned better. He _should_ have planned better. He could have gone to Waterfall, ignored the awful things the flowers there echoed off the walls. He could have gone to Hotland and pretended not to notice the strange things he saw sometimes near the Core. Shadows in his peripheral vision that no one else seemed to see and he couldn’t explain.

Instead he was standing in a shed in Snowdin, hands extended, breathlessly entreating a monster three times his size to put down his brother and let them leave.

An hour later he was walking to Waterfall, his arms hooked under Papyrus’ legs, carrying him along. Trying and failing to pretend that he didn’t hear his brother sobbing against his back. “you’ll be fine,” he told his brother as he trudged through the snow, too tired to fully lift his feet.

Sans wasn’t sure of that, though. He wasn’t sure of anything. God, he was such a fucking shitty big brother.

* * *

  
  
  


“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Sans woke more than once to arguing. Directing enough magic to his senses to make out what precisely was going on was difficult. He pieced together snatches of information. He was on the sofa. His head was turned to the side. Trying to move it resulted in pain receptors triggering rapid fire down the length of his spine. The first time he tried to move his head, Papyrus had taken his jaw in his hand, had held him still until his eyelights flickered out again, his consciousness trailing behind them.

Now he saw Papyrus across the room, speaking animatedly with Undyne. Both were dressed for combat. Had Papyrus been wearing his battle body before? Sans didn’t think he had…

“I’M GOING TO FIND THE REST OF HIM.” Papyrus stabbed a finger in Sans’ direction.

“Then hold on a goddamn minute. Let me get some reinforcements down here if—”

“I THINK WE’VE STOOD AROUND LOLLYGAGGING QUITE LONG ENOUGH.”

Sans’ view was blocked as a figure stepped into it. Someone stocky and fumbling with the plunger on a syringe in a way that did little to inspire confidence. “Oh,” said Alphys, flicking air bubbles from the barrel. “You’re awake. Well, I’m sure I can fix that, at least.”

“boss?” His limbs were heavy and unresponsive, but he still managed to swat the syringe away. For a moment he could see Papyrus again as Alphys ducked down to retrieve the syringe from the carpet.

The front door was opening and Papyrus was stepping through it. Undyne hesitated on the threshold. She swore. “Alphys, wait here,” she said finally, distractedly.

Alphys turned just in time to catch Undyne exiting after Papyrus, leaving the door ajar. “Huh? Undyne?” She stood and headed for the door, only doubling back when Sans started to rise as well.

“Not so fast.” Alphys was quick. Or maybe he was just especially slow at the moment. She caught him by the shoulder and pushed him back down. In her other hand, she still held the syringe. With his ribs damaged, she had easy access to his SOUL whether he liked it or not.

And he didn’t like it.

He didn’t like any of this.

“boss!” His ribs expanded painfully as his volume increased. He grabbed at Alphys’ forearm. “wait!” It was a command meant for Papyrus, but it worked fine directed at Alphys too. Not that she listened. If anything, she redoubled her efforts to subdue him, leveraging her weight to keep him still.

“C-calm down. You’re just going to hurt yourself.” She redistributed her weight to try and get at his SOUL with whatever was in that syringe.

Sans twisted away from her as best he could, feeling the abject wrongness of a sofa cushion brushing up against the interior of his skull. His magic sputtered, pain occluding his vision.

“GIVE ME THAT.”

Alphys’ weight left and was immediately replaced by a new and more familiar one.

“HOLD STILL, IDIOT.”

Sans went still, blearily staring up at the frowning face of his brother until Papyrus took him by the jaw and turned his head back to one side. “wait.” Sans wrapped a hand around his wrist and was surprised when Papyrus actually listened. Now if only he could order his thoughts well enough to turn his wants into words. “stay here.”

Papyrus made a disgusted sound somewhere between a snort and a derisive bark of a laugh. “I’LL BE BACK SOON. DON’T BE PATHETIC.”

“someone—” Sans drew in a sharp breath when he felt Papyrus’ gloved hand cup his SOUL. His broken ribs hurt but then grew warm, drawing in what little healing magic Papyrus had to give. “someone else can go.” It had been four humans by Sans’ estimation. They had realized he was gone by now, surely. Best case scenario, they had cleared out. Worst case, they’d called friends.

“I’ve made some calls. I can handle this.” Undyne had reentered the apartment. She was standing behind Alphys, her arms crossed over her chest. She was watching Papyrus’ hands. Her expression was difficult to read.

“I’M GOING.” Papyrus left no room for further objections before he pushed the needle in and the plunger down. “I’LL BE BACK SOON.”

“don’t—” Sans caught Papyrus by the wrist again. Not that there was a whole hell of a lot he could do now. Whatever had been in that syringe, it was quickly blanketing his senses in black. He felt Papyrus pull his wrist from his grip. His hand remained, though, sliding over his brother’s, running a thumb over the cracked peaks and valleys of his knuckles.

Sans thought he felt him lean forward, thought he felt his breath against his acoustic meatus, thought he heard him whisper something…

  
  
  


* * *

“hold still.” It was difficult to splint an arm when the injured party kept squirming. It was difficult to splint an arm when you really didn’t know what you were doing. “stop being such a babybones.” Maybe if he acted frustrated enough, Papyrus wouldn’t catch on to that last part.

Papyrus sniffed and squared his shoulders _“stop being such a babybones,”_ repeated a nearby echo flower. He kept crying, but he was quieter about it.

He was still LV 1 then. Healing was easier. They tucked themselves into a narrow space between rocky outcroppings. Sans removed his jacket and pulled it over the both of them, shielding them from the water dripping overhead and, hopefully, the peripheral vision of passersby.

Sans held Papyrus’ arm as they huddled there, the green magic glow casting harsh shadows on his brother’s downturned face.

_“stop being such a babybones,”_ snapped a flower.

_“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT IN THE FIRST PLACE!”_ came the reply. Sans wished he had given them something new to say before they took their hiding spot.

_“stop being such a babybones.”_ Caught in a feedback loop. Far enough away that it was only intelligible if you already knew what it was saying. Papyrus bowed his head a little lower and mumbled something into his scarf.

“huh?”

Papyrus’ eyelights flashed red and cut upwards. “I SAID I HATE YOU!”

Sans snorted and focused on Papyrus’ arm, suddenly reluctant to look his brother in the eye. “yeah, well, same here.”

Papyrus didn’t reply, but Sans could feel him watching. Picking apart Sans’ phrasing. Parsing his meaning. Too perceptive by half.

Eventually, he fell asleep. He did so all at once, slumping against Sans and going limp. What he _could_ heal, he had. He kept going anyway. Faintly, he could swear he could hear an echo flower repeating how much it hated him.

* * *

Sans woke up several more times. His senses caught snatches of things. Alphys emptying another syringe into his SOUL. Alphys pacing, lowering a phone from her ear to curse at it before redialing. More fretting, nearer from the sound of it. Alphys carefully lifting his head, sliding something beneath it. Worn terry cloth fibers. A towel, probably. He could feel something wet pooling in his skull, overflowing from his right eye socket and from his nasal cavity and from the corner of his mouth. Through his left eyelight flickering in and out, he thought he saw red. He wasn’t sure what that meant. He wasn’t sure it was all blood. The inside of his skull felt like chocolate on a warm day. He felt… malleable.

  
  


* * *

It worked best if some wounds waited for adulthood. Sans had found out through trial and error. In his mind, he held a vague picture of this all having happened before. Papyrus’ arm had been broken at least a dozen times, but also only once.

The downside was that his healing magic was always worse by the time Papyrus was grown. LV 4… LV 5… once LV 8. It had never been much, of course. Healers in the Underground were a rarity. Fresh-faced, bright eyed youngsters. Children kept from LOVE with love. Or, at least, a facsimile of it. They lost it eventually, that bright green kindness. They usually took on kids of their own after that, charged more for them than Sans could afford.

Healers were really only good with flesh wounds anyway. There was a limit to how useful they could be, a limit that was lower when it came to skeletons without flesh to wound.

The only other options were the medicines made in the labs, a byproduct of other scientific endeavors. Salves, balms, mixing compounds composed of magic and the tiniest bit of Determination. Dangerous in large doses. Dangerous in small doses too if the monster had no drive of their own to keep going.

DT cost too, but Sans seldom had to pay. If Alphys was at her lab - and she almost always was - she would let him in. They never really talked about why she did it. Maybe she had one of those vague pictures in her mind too. One that told her not to ask questions.

Sans didn’t worry about mixing the lacquer or smoothing it into cracks. Papyrus was the most determined monster he knew. What he liked less was the way the final layer of gold drew the eye to old scars. He let some heal, becoming barely visible lines across the pale white of his bones. Without exception, he filled in every injury that had been Sans’ fault, directly or otherwise. Usually, he made Sans do it himself.

“MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU WON’T FALL ASLEEP AT YOUR STATION, HMM?”

* * *

  
  


“Couldn’t hurt to call a healer. I can pay for it.”

“YOU THINK THE PROBLEM HERE IS THAT I’M NOT WILLING TO _PAY_ FOR A HEALER?”

“I-I really don’t t-think that’s g-going to help much. It’s not that—”

“GET OUT OF MY WAY.”

Sans heard footsteps muffled by the carpet. He felt a familiar hand on the side of his skull followed by the warm, gentle vibrations of magic. Suddenly, breathing was a lot easier. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the healing or the knowledge that Papyrus hadn’t gone off and gotten himself killed.

“COULD ONE OF YOU BE BOTHERED TO JUST— GET ME A WET HANDTOWEL OR SOMETHING?” Papyrus snarled. Not a tone Sans had ever heard him use with Undyne. Complaining about her decision making behind her back? Sure. To her face? Never.

“No. That’s all right, Alphys.” Undyne’s voice was low and measured. “He asked me. I’ll get it.”

Sans felt Papyrus’ thumb slide against his right eye socket. Something alien moved inside his skull. He heard Papyrus expel a sharp breath through his teeth in unmistakable disgust.

“YOU LEFT HIM LIKE THIS?”

“I-I- That’s not—” Alphys took a moment, huffed. When she spoke again, it was with a firmer tone. “I’m not a healer. I brought you anything I thought you might need. I babysat him when you were off… getting the rest. I know you’re scared, but—”

“I’M NOT _SCARED ._ WHY WOULD I BE SCARED? I’M DISAPPOINTED. I EXPECTED A BASIC LEVEL OF COMPETENCY FROM ALL OF YOU.”

Sans was fairly certain he was included in that “all of you.”

“Leave it, Alphys,” said Undyne, easily audible even when she was being quiet. She had returned with the damp cloth Papyrus had requested, it seemed. Sans felt its warmth against his eye socket, gradually dissolving whatever bodily fluids had coagulated there. “What do you want us to do?”

Papyrus had moved one hand beneath Sans’ skull as the other scrubbed carefully at his face. Sans felt him stiffen.

“I’ve brought everything I usually bring,” Alphys reiterated, her voice a half-octave higher with anxiety.

“SO WHAT DO YOU _USUALLY_ DO NEXT?” It was hard to tell if the question was mocking her inefficiency or if it was genuine curiosity. “STAND AROUND AND WAIT FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO DO ALL THE WORK?”

“Basically!” Another half-octave higher, verging on shrill. “You’re usually the one that’s hurt. Sans handles that. I don’t know enough about skeletons— I wouldn’t know where to even— I was hoping you could take it from here. I don’t mind taking risks in the name of science. I, uh, I actually really enjoy trial and error. You know I do. I just…”

“I told her not to.”

“Undyne told me not to, yes,” Alphys amended sheepishly.

What Sans could only imagine to be a clot of coagulated blood and magic tumbled down the inside of his skull as Papyrus made a final pass across his eye socket with the cloth.

“YOU’RE AWAKE, RIGHT?” The question was for him. Sans could feel Papyrus’ breath on his bone as he spoke, very near to him, holding his head in his hands. “CAN YOU LOOK AT ME?”

Summoning his eyelights took more energy than he wanted to expend. He tried anyway. They flickered at first. They’d been gunked up like a dirty eye on a gas stove, and now the spark just wouldn’t catch. Meanwhile, Papyrus tapped his temple with a finger. Clearly, this was a problem with reception. He was the world’s most fragile television and a few gentle whacks would unscramble the signal.

On the fifth tap, his eyelights flickered in and stayed. But Sans was pretty sure that was just a coincidence.

There was an ugly knick on Papyrus’ jaw. Sans wasn’t sure what had caused it. The bat that had clocked him in the back of the head, maybe. Papyrus was just built of sturdier stuff.

Around him, Sans could see Undyne and Alphys. The former had stripped down to her tanktop. There was a sheen to her skin, sweat or just some kinda fishy wetness. Either way, she looked tired. There was a smear of blood on her right hand and left forearm. Almost certainly human. Undyne didn’t bleed.

“HOW DO YOU FEEL?”

A rare question from Papyrus. Sans took a quick inventory. He was on their sofa, turtleneck cut away to expose his collapsed ribs, evidence of his most recent failure on full display. His brother’s hand separated his head from a once-white towel, now saturated red. They’d have to throw out the sofa for sure. Flipping over one of the cushions wasn’t going to salvage this one.

“SANS?”

He flicked his gaze back to Papyrus. How did he feel?

Undyne crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly averted her gaze. Alphys stifled a yawn. With one claw, she scratched at a rust-colored stain on her nightgown. She had been dragged out of bed to come here.

How did he feel?

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Humiliated.

“i—” he began, but it wasn’t so much a syllable as it was a rasping gag of a sound. His jaw was stiff, gummy where the mess inside had dried.

Papyrus watched as he worked his jaw uselessly. After a moment, he intervened, working a couple of fingers into the fascial space beneath his mandible. He peeled away at some of the gumminess, grimacing like someone picking a stranger’s gum out of carpet fibers.

Beyond Papyrus, Sans could still see Undyne and Alphys. The latter was looking in their direction again, eyes shining with a kind of detached fascination. “You’ll need to clean all of that out before you close him back up. I would have done it myself, but he was squirming so much, I didn’t dare. If you want, you could hold him still and I—”

“leave,” Sans gasped the moment he could work his jaw again. The left side functioned better than the right presently. His words were slurred, but he could see that Papyrus still understood them. “make them leave.” And because he didn’t think he could sink any lower in Papyrus’ regard, he added a miserable and emphatic, _“please. ”_

Papyrus met his gaze, eyelights moving minutely as they swept over his face and then the rest of his body. Trying to gauge whether he was equipped to handle this on his own, probably.

Alphys wasn’t wrong. Papyrus would know more about what to do here than she would. He wasn’t dead yet. Papyrus had collected most, if not all of him from that grubby bar basement. Maybe from the streets too if he had lost any during that long, shambling walk of shame back home.

“i’m fine,” said Sans, immediately feeling ridiculous. The current state of him suggested that he was anything but fine.

Papyrus inclined his head, browbones rising skeptically. “SANS, YOU ARE NOT,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dim child.

“i will be,” Sans replied. Papyrus had said it himself. Though, looking at him now, Sans honestly couldn’t tell if he _still_ believed that.

It reminded him of a time when they were both still kids. When a failed attempt to shoplift a bag of chips had resulted in a well-earned backhand to the face. It had knocked loose a tooth that came out several minutes later as he drooled blood out onto freshly fallen snow.

Papyrus had been inconsolable, certain that Sans was only seconds away from dusting. He had never seen anyone bleed before. It was hard to reassure him around mouthfuls of blood. A pointed glare and halfhearted thwack to the back of the skull didn’t help. He settled on grabbing his forearm and holding on tight. He didn’t think Papyrus was stupid enough to go off looking for help, but he didn’t want to risk it.

“will you _shut up?”_ he slurred when he could speak again.

Papyrus was looking down at Sans’ hand on his arm. His eyelights were magnified by the tears brimming in his sockets. God, he cried so much back then… Maybe Sans shouldn’t have worked so hard to break him of that.

“I JUST… I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE.” Papyrus grimaced at that last part. The words left him slowly, like they weren’t his worst fears but were still adjacent enough to them that they hurt to hear out loud.

Sans should have rolled his eyes or scoffed or told Papyrus he was being a babybones. His instincts were to do any number of those things. Instead, he found himself pulling his brother into a hug. Papyrus had needed him back then in a way no one would ever again. And that was okay. He’d fallen into obsolescence a fair bit sooner than expected, but… that was all right.

Now, bleeding on a couch decades later, he grabbed Papyrus by the forearm again. He’d taken off his gloves, Sans realized. He could feel the smooth spiral of gold from where Papyrus’ arm had been broken so long ago. The first of many failures to come.

“i just wanna be alone, boss.” It felt better like this. Deferring to him. Not a reversal of roles, but the way things proceed when someone outgrows you and, despite having nothing to offer them, you want to stay in their lives regardless.

Papyrus still had some of those Fluffy Bunny books under his bed. Sans was pretty sure he had more in common with those books than he did with people like Alphys or Undyne. Even on the surface, they had important roles to fill. Papyrus could call on them if he needed help. Ostensibly, they were even friends.

“IF YOU’RE BOTH JUST GOING TO STAND AROUND BACK THERE, YOU MAY AS WELL RETURN HOME,” Papyrus said suddenly. He didn’t turn yet. He spoke quickly. Like he was eager to get the words out before he changed his mind.

Neither Undyne nor Alphys argued. “I’ll find someone to cover your patrol tomorrow,” said Undyne. “Keep us updated. Call if there’s something you need.” She looked to Sans next and gave him a slow nod that he wasn’t really sure what to do with.

“Don’t die,” Alphys suggested, unhelpfully. Sans was even less sure of what to do with that.

Papyrus led them both to the door. They exchanged words in hushed voices. It felt absurd to think that they might be talking about him. He wanted them gone. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. He wanted to sink into the sofa and disappear… And for a moment, that chilled him; it felt like he might be in the process of doing just that. For the second time that night, his bones felt oddly pliant.

But then the door opened and closed. Sans thought he heard it lock.

“THERE.” Papyrus crossed back over to Sans, his arms folded in front of him, a scowl on his face. “THEY’RE GONE. YOU CAN STOP BEING SO… PENSIVE.”

Sans blinked up at Papyrus, unable to make sense of what he had just said for a moment. “what?”

“YOU’RE BEING VERY…” Papyrus gestured vaguely before landing on an adjective. “GLOOMY. I DON’T LIKE IT.”

“yeah, well, i don’t like having a hole in my head and my ribs busted. makes me gloomy.” Sans gasped the last few words. It hurt when his ribs moved.

“DON’T INJURE YOURSELF FURTHER TRYING TO BE CLEVER,” sneered Papyrus. He leaned over his brother then, putting his hands on his shoulders and giving him the sort of appraising once-over that suggested he was preparing to move him. “FIRST THINGS FIRST, WE SHOULD GET YOU CLEANED UP. YOU LOOK DISGUSTING.”

Truly, nothing sounded more demoralizing than having his little brother drag him to the shower to rinse gelatinous detritus from orifices both old and new. Sans considered saying something else “clever.” At the very least, he wanted to tell Papyrus that he didn’t have to do this. That he would rather he didn’t actually. That he would rather… What _did_ he want Papyrus to do here? Just sit on the sofa with him for a while, watch some television until he turned to dust during one of the commercial breaks?

“CAREFUL,” said Papyrus, even though he did the lion’s share of the work, lifting Sans from the sofa and situating him against his chest.

Sans rested his forehead against Papyrus’ shoulder. His brother’s fingers slid down his spine, pressing in healing magic that eased the pain in his ribs again somewhat.

“YOU’RE FINE,” said Papyrus. It sounded like he was saying those words to himself, Sans realized. Echoing what he’d said earlier when he begged him to make Undyne and Alphys leave. “YOU’LL BE FINE.” That last part sounded almost like a question.

“yeah,” Sans muttered into Papyrus’ chest, even though he was fairly certain his brother hadn’t been waiting for a response. That was something he could still do, at least. Reassure him, build him up.

It was, of course, a skill set he shared with a certain series of children’s picture books hidden beneath Papyrus’ bed. And you didn’t have to feed the books, keep them out of danger, and then rinse the blood from their skull when they blundered into danger anyway.

Sans thought he felt Papyrus’ fingers sink ever so slightly into his spine. He thought he felt the bone depress beneath them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, big thank you to [Skerb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb) for beta'ing this! ♥
> 
> I adore any and all comments. A little to say or a lot, they are all cherished. Comments keep me coming back to write more fic. They're also my only way to gauge if people are still reading past the first chapter.
> 
> Also! Feel free to follow me over on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/Missus_Id)


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